


Shades of Arlathan

by IrLaimsaAraLath



Series: Pride Goeth [2]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Arlathan, F/M, Fluff, Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-09
Updated: 2017-12-09
Packaged: 2019-02-12 18:36:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,671
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12965838
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IrLaimsaAraLath/pseuds/IrLaimsaAraLath
Summary: Being in love has made Niyera happier than she could remember being in ages, and she wanted to get something for Solas as a sort of token.  She's unaware that Solas has the same thing on his mind and, as usual, manages something more extraordinary than anything she could have asked for.  Mushy stuff ensues.





	Shades of Arlathan

**Author's Note:**

> Their first time. Awwww.
> 
> So, tagged for sex...obviously.

“Don't be absurd,” Dorian squawked loudly, his voice echoing in spirals down the tower’s stairways.  All but lunging at him, Niyera clamped a hand down on his mouth as she grabbed his shoulder, and her eyes flared wide as her lips became a hard line.  “Sssssshhhhh,” she hissed, tendering a cautious glance over her shoulder.   “He's probably  _ right _ down  _ there _ , you know.  A little discretion, if you please.”  The Tevinter crossed his arms and a hip jutted out as he stared at her.  It occurred to her then that Dorian had the most expressive eyebrows of anyone she'd ever met.  Just now, they were being especially sassy, as they often are, and she shot him a withering look of reproach.  

 

“If I move my hand, you have to promise to keep your vo-,” she began, but broke off into a startled squeal as Dorian laved his tongue across her palm.  Snatching her hand back, her nose wrinkled, and she made a disgusted noise as she wiped the offending wetness off on his shirt.  “Ugh...there's no telling where your tongue has been.”  He scoffed in indignation before saying, “Well, certainly there is, and I assure you it's a far sight more exciting than where  _ your _ tongue has been if you  _ really _ want to know.”  The smugness in his smile and his voice flattened her expression, and she could only look on with barely feigned irritation.   “You're impossible.  You know that, right?”  Dorian gave an easy lift of his shoulders as he fussed with the curl of his moustache.  “Quite to the contrary, my dear Inquisitor.  I can be very easy, just not particularly cheap.”  The profundity of her eye roll drew from him a brilliant smile. 

 

“So, you're saying this is going to cost me, hm?  Is that it?” she demurred, and it was her turn to fold her arms.  In response, the Tevinter pursed his lips and clucked his tongue as his head shook ever so slightly.   “Of course not, but only because I am so exceedingly fond of you,” and with those words, he patted her cheek affectionately and turned away.   A small smile cracked her lips despite her efforts otherwise, and she waited patiently as she listened to the dry scratch of quill on parchment.   When Dorian returned, he was blowing on a small square of paper and waved it briefly to dry the ink.  “This is the scribe you should see.  Her work is exceptional, and I've never found her spellcraft to be anything other than sheer perfection.”  When he offered out the parchment, she took it and rested a hand on his cheek while she kissed the other.  “Thank you, Dorian.”  He waved off the gratitude with an elaborate gesture.  “Anything for you, Inquisitor.  Do let me know when it's in.  I'd love to have a peek before you give it to him.”  Already headed to the stairs, she tossed an “Of course!” over her shoulder at him before disappearing from view.  

 

* * *

 

It was almost a full two weeks later that the package arrived.  Dorian and Niyera were just leaving the war room after discussing Venatori movements with her advisors when a courier stopped them in the hall.  “Inquisitor,” the man offered as he tapped his fist to his chest.  “A package from Val Royeaux arrived just now, and I had it delivered directly to your quarters as you instructed.”  Her hand fluttered on Dorian’s forearm, and she bounced on her toes excitedly as the man spoke.  She was a mess of barely contained elation as she thanked the courier and drug the Tevinter along by his sleeve.   “Huuuurry,” she twittered, “I want to see.”  He rolled his eyes with amused indulgence, uttering, “Yes, yes, let's go,” as she pulled him along behind.  

 

It was almost impossible to simply walk the short distance from the hall to the war room and her door, but she did her best as it was likely unbecoming an Inquisitor to skip through the hall.  But, once she and Dorian were safely behind the outer door to her quarters, she bounded up the stairs, taking two at a time.  When she arrived, her eyes darted around and found the package on the couch -- a large white box bound at the corners with gilded ribbon.  It was a much larger box than she had expected.  Picking it up, she hefted it in her hands, and her brows knitted together in thought.  Lighter, too.  As she moved to the end of her bed to sit the box down, Dorian was just catching up, and he sank onto the couch, propping an elbow on the arm and crossing his legs.  “Well, let’s see then,” he said, rolling a finger in the air to hurry her unwrapping.

 

“It feels awfully light,” she said, tilting her eyes briefly to Dorian as she tugged the ribbons from the box.    A light shimmy of the lid pulled it free of the bottom, and she tossed it aside and was met with neatly folded tissue paper with an embossed vellum card on top.  Lifting it between two fingers, she held it up for Dorian to see, and a hint of confusion registered on his features before he shook his head, at a loss.  

 

She hummed a curious little sound as she bent the card open.  As her eyes skimmed the card, the look of confusion was replaced with surprise and a faint streak of color on her cheeks.  Her mouth formed an ‘o’ before she ever made a sound, her eyes flickering to Dorian, then back to the card before she finally spoke.  “Oh... _ oh. _ ”  By now, the Tevinter had both elbows braced on his knees as he eagerly waited.  “Well?” he finally asked, eyes wide as he bounced his legs.  Niyera’s teeth caught her lower lip for a moment and both brows lifted as she spoke, “It’s from Solas.”  

 

Dorian blinked once, then again, his jaw going slack for a moment before he clapped his hands against his knees and bounded to his feet.  “Whaaat?  Let me see,” he blurted as he moved to grab the card, but she quickly snatched it out of reach and pressed it against her chest.  “Excuse you, please.  It’s  _ personal _ .”  The Tevinter eyes rolled skyward as he held up his hands and took a step back.  “Fine, fine.  But if you don’t at least show me what’s in the box, I’ll die of curiosity, and how could you possibly go on living without me?” he pleaded, dark lashes fluttering at her.  It was Niyera’s turn to roll her eyes, and she tucked the card between the box and the bed as she began to fold back the tissue paper.

 

Faint shadows of color began to become visible between the thin layers of paper, and when the box’s contents were laid bare, her breath caught and a meek sound escaped her lips.  In shades of blue and violet as soft as watercolors, a gown of gossamer silk was tucked neatly within.  The bodice was sleeveless, draping from a wide collar of silver satin that would sheath the neck and dip into a graceful point.  A similar band fixed the waistline  

 

“I’m scared to touch it,” she murmured, almost to herself, as she gingerly pulled the gown from the box and held it against her body for Dorian to see.  “Oh,” he uttered softly as he took a step back to fully appraise the view, and no small measure of surprise lingered in his expression.  Curled fingers settled under his chin as he stood in silence.  She could see now that the gown was backless to the waist, where a line of delicate hook closures were hidden within the folds.  Seed beads of abalone accented the hems, and the violet layers had a faint argent shimmer woven directly into the gossamer.  “I had no idea Solas had such an eye for finery,” Dorian offered, his head canting to one side.  “It’s not a piece of modern design by any means -- too understated.  But it is unquestionably lovely and possesses a timeless elegance,” he said, pausing before adding, “The style reminds me of illustrations of ancient elven fashions I’ve seen in exceptionally old and dusty tomes.  I had always supposed that they were a romantic artist’s rendering, but apparently I was mistaken.”  As her companion had spoken, she’d padded over to her wardrobe where there was a full length mirror, and she admired the gown in its reflection.  

 

“Pity he doesn’t apply this level of discernment to his own wardrobe.  I mean, really,” the Tevinter continued until Niyera snapped at him.  “Dorian!  Honestly.”  She shot him a scolding glance before she turned back to the mirror.  He chuckled as he strode over to stand behind her, gazing into the mirror from over her shoulder.  “It  _ is _ lovely, isn’t it?” she asked, timidly tilting her eyes up to her friend.  “It is, Niyera.  And, on you, it will be even more beautiful still,” he paused, gathering up the mass of her white hair into a loose spiral on the crown of her head before continuing, “With your hair like this...show off your shoulders and back, the line of your neck...stunning, my dear Inquisitor.  Just stunning.”  The pair shared a smile in the mirror before Niyera turned to Dorian, idly smoothing her hand down the length of the gown as she spoke, “Now, I just wonder what the occasion is.”

 

* * *

 

After unwrapping the gown, she’d gone immediately in search of Solas, but instead of him in the rotunda, she found a note with her name on it.  He said he had a few “items of import” to attend to and that he would return in no more than three days.  She hadn’t thought that seemed like a great deal of time when she initially read the note, but by the third morning, she reconsidered her original assessment.  Three days was a lifetime.

 

Standing at the war table, she was looking directly at Leliana as the spymaster delivered her report, but her mind was somewhere else entirely.  “Inquisitor?” she heard Josephine’s voice, and it tugged her back to the present.  “I’m sorry, did you say something?”  Josephine cleared her throat delicately and gestured down to the map with her quill.  “Yes.  You’re tearing the Frostback Mountains,” the advisor said, poised with a brow raised high over a questioning gaze.  Niyera had been idly pulling small tears in the map, and immediately, her hand snapped back to her side as if it’d been slapped, and a light flush crept up her neck to suffuse her cheeks.  “I apologize.  I’m a tad distracted,” she murmured, and Leliana responded with a hint of a smile.  “We’ve noticed.  However, I think we’ve covered all the truly vital matters, no?”  Josephine and Cullen both nodded, and she gave me them all a grateful nod as she excused herself.  

 

She heaved a deep sigh when she emerged into the hall, and she slid her idle gaze across those gathered.  Several greeted her, and she nodded politely before clasping her hands behind her back and starting for the courtyard.  Perhaps a walk.  That way, she could let her mind wander without demands on her attention.  Against the bright white of the sun, she squinted as she stepped out onto the landing and began down the stairs.  

 

As her eyes adjusted, she turned her gaze down the length of the stairs and found Solas approaching from the bottom.  They both smiled and met midway.  “I had begun to worry,” she said, trying to sound even a little bit casual, resting a hand on his shoulder as she began to lean in to place a kiss on his cheek.  Before she could manage, however, Solas rose onto her step, his hand on her waist pulling her in, as he captured her lips with his.  Her eyes widened a fraction in surprise, as public displays were not generally something Solas engaged in, but they quickly drifted closed as she gave in to the embrace, her hand on his shoulder traveling to his jaw.  The kiss was soft, deep, and as enveloping as a warm bath on a winter’s night.  

 

When he set her free, her head was swimming and she was just a bit breathless; he, however, smiled and said, “Hello, ma vhenan.”  Her fingers were trailing on the fraying strap of his satchel as she searched his face.  “Indeed,” she whispered, clearing her throat to follow up with, “What has gotten into you?”  The expression he offered was noncommittal, his smile evasive as he hitched a shoulder upward.  “May I ask a favor of you?” he finally said, a subtle tilt of his head allowing him to look at her from beneath his slanted brow.  “Of course,” she quickly answered, perhaps too quickly, as her head canted to one side and a curious curl bent her lips.  “Meet me tonight?  An hour after sunset, in the rotunda?” he asked, scooping up her hand to place a kiss against her knuckles as he began up the stairs.  “...and wear the gown.”  Mischief was a sharp glimmer in his grey-blue eyes as she nodded her response, and he reluctantly released her hand and turned away to mount the stairs, disappearing into the hall.  Such secrecy and intrigue.  Like leaf caught in the fingers of the wind, her heart turned over in her chest and fell to flutter in her stomach.  She gave a glance to the sun, estimating the time before starting back up the stairs.

 

* * *

 

Josephine had all but tripped over herself when Niyera’d asked for help with her hair.  She’d barely gotten the words out of her mouth before her advisor was clapping her hands together and plotting all the various styles they could try.  But, now that Josephine was gone, she stood in front of her mirror to inspect their work.  Downy wisps of white fell from the mass of hair atop of her head, framing her face in curling tendrils, while the rest was held with a two-pronged pick embellished with opals.  Leliana had been responsible for that touch.  Though the gown fit perfectly, she was still nervous in it.  She wasn’t accustomed to such fine things, and she kept catching herself gently rubbing the fabric between her fingertips to marvel at how smooth and silky it was.  

 

A sharp rap at her door startled her, making her jump before she croaked out, “Come in.”  She was still looking in the mirror when Dorian rounded the top of the stairs, and the sound that he made caused her to turn.  Her brow furrowed as she took a few steps forward, her expression cautious as she turned in a small circle.  When Dorian still didn’t say anything as she came to face him again, she frowned and shifted her weight as she glanced down at herself.  

 

“Will you say nothing at all?  Am I not alright?”  She chewed on the inside corner of her lips, glancing back up at him in uncertainty.  The lines of his features softened as he began to smile, and he crossed the distance between them in a handful of steps.  “I apologize.  I was momentarily struck speechless, Lady Lavellan,” he offered as he reached down to take her hands in his.  “You?  Speechless?  Perish the thought,” she returned, allowing a hint of confidence to trickle back into her voice.  “What do you think?”  

 

Dorian took a deep breath as he lifted her hands, brushing a feather-light kiss on each before he said, “I think you should be grateful I prefer men, otherwise I’d be forced to ravish you this very moment and all of Josephine’s attention to your hair would be utterly wasted.”  It was impossible to stop the smile that spread on her lips or the color that tinted her cheeks.  She could only try to joke the compliment away as she nudged their hands into his chest, saying, “I can always trust you to be overdramatic.”  His chuckle was warm, and it lit his eyes as he shook his head.  “Any other time, you’d be absolutely right.  But, truly, Niyera.  You’re breathtaking.”  

 

* * *

Niyera slipped into the rotunda on silent feet, the only sound the whispered guttering of the torches around her.  When a cursory pursual didn’t find Solas, she occupied herself with inspecting his newest addition to the fresco.  Resting her arms across her stomach, she tilted her face upward, following the earth-toned colors as they strove toward the ceiling.  At her back, she heard footfalls on the stairs and glanced over her shoulder.  She found Solas lingering in the archway, body poised as if he was halted in mid-step by a force unseen.  “ _ On dhea'lam,  _ Solas _ , _ ” she said as she turned to him, taking a tentative step forward.  It was difficult to read his expression, but the inflection in his voice and the slight upward turn of the corners of his mouth hinted at his thoughts.  “ _ Ma'ena'vun _ ,” he uttered, almost reverently, as he finally entered the circle of light cast by the torches.  She, it seemed, was not the only one dressed for the occasion.  He wore a high-collared sleeveless black shirt under a thin deep blue satin coat with a forked and pointed tail that hit at knee-length.  The garment bore a flared collar that stood open with the stiffness of silver tracery embroidered to mid-chest.  His leggings matched his shirt, with the same long-line braided v pattern.

 

Her movements were composed of the barest of whispers, silk on stone, as she closed the space between them.  One corner of her mouth curled upward as she traced her fingers along the raised stitching on his coat, then smoothed her hand down his chest.  She could see the blush rise in the tips of his ears as he straightened his back.  “This color suits you, ma lath.  It brings out your eyes,” she murmured as she appreciated the length of him, eyes wandering from head to toe.  He attempted to hide his diffidence and the shifting of his weight by plucking up her hand to press her knuckles against his lips.  “And, you are a vision, Niyera.  I thought the gown lovely when the tailors finished with it, but you make it truly beautiful.”  A smile blossomed full on her lips as she stepped into him, saying, “Sweet talker,” as she canted her gaze up at him.

 

He met her smile with a chuckle before reaching to the corner of his desk to tip open the lid of the wooden box there.  Nestled in the cradle of the box’s lining was an elaborate silver cube, its surface lined with the seams of its interlocking parts.  “Shall we?” he asked as he retrieved the artifact and held it between them.  She inspected the item briefly, a slant of confusion quirking her brow.  “What is it?  What does it do?”  He lifted her hand and gently pressed the cube into it, trapping it between their palms.  It was warm to the touch, but not hot, and it thrummed against her skin.  

 

“Close your eyes, and I’ll show you,” he instructed, and her lips twisted into something of a petulant smirk before she hummed her acquiescence and closed her eyes.  With his free hand, Solas turned the center segment of the cube, and a verdant luminescence began to spill out.  She felt an insistent tug at the center of her being, so strong that it stole her breath, and she started to open her eyes, but his hand on her waist calmed her.  --  All at once, the radiance of the cube burst outward, filling the rotunda, then collapsed back in on itself with an audible *pop*, and they were gone.

 

When the world snapped back into place around them, she was left unbalanced, an effect that wasn't aided by her eyes being closed.  Within moments, however, Solas's steadying hands were on her hips, and the ground underfoot seemed all the more solid for his touch.  "Are you alright?" he asked, taking her hands as she groped in the darkness.  "Yes, but...is it really necessary for my eyes to be closed?"  The mischief in his smile was a clear note she could hear in his voice when he said, "Indulge me just a few moments longer.  We are almost there."  She nodded mutely, and he began to guide her forward.  

 

The air was balmy and cool, and when a breeze stirred, it brought with it the fragrance of hyacinths.  Somewhere in the distance, she could hear the faintest strains of music, though it was unlike any she'd ever heard.  Each note was poignant and somehow elegant.  On her skin, she felt strokes that she recognized as the brush of leaves, and beneath her feet, the ground was soft and cushioned as if plush with grass.  Curiosity burned in her mind and summoned butterflies in her stomach as she struggled to place a setting she couldn't yet see. 

 

"Are we there yet?" she teased as her lips were tugged into a mirthful curve.  "Always so impatient, vhenan.  Almost," Solas chided in return, then added, "Step up carefully."  Doing so, she found her feet on firmer ground, and Solas released her hands.  Left bereft, she gently probed the air until she felt his presence at her back, and his warm hands on her bare shoulders.  "Just a few more steps forward," he urged, and she took a hesitant step, then another.  She couldn't help but chuckle when she turned her lidded gaze over her shoulder to say, "You keep saying that.  'Just a while longer.'"  His grip slid to her upper arms, and he stopped her with gentle pressure.  "Yes, but I mean it this time," he said as he drew away his hands and took a step back.  "Now.  You can open them."

 

As if having just woken from a long sleep, her eyes fluttered and her vision slowly cleared.  What she saw pulled a quiet gasp from her lips.  Beset by a shadowed grove of trees on all sides and the expanse of the moonlit sky overhead, what looked to be the remains of a grand, circular promenade opened up around her.  Its edges were framed in pillars -- some still standing, some crumbled and ruined -- and at the center of the marble floor was a shallow pool that luminesced a pale foxfire green.  From the water rose the lithe, curved trunk of a tree, whose willowy branches bowed in cascades to skim the pool's surface with narrow, blade-shaped leaves.  Off to one side of the water sat a double chaise lounge covered in green velvet, with a low-sitting table arranged before it.  Silver bowls of fruits and platters of sweets sat waiting, along with a bottle of wine and a pair of chalices.

 

Movement beyond the border of pillars caught her attention, and she turned just in time to see something flicker into existence.  Past the inner circle of the promenade, a massive plaza opened up, but she found its structure made of something altogether less substantial than stone.   Mists bound in slender cords of pale green luminescence outlined the forms of elegant sculptures, with fountains and benches interspersed throughout.  Even as the visions solidified, their edges blurred and winked again out of existence, like the shade of a distance memory that disappears ere it is fully savored. --  As she marveled at the setting, Solas lingered at the edge of the promenade, hands clasped behind his back as he observed her.  She would undoubtedly protest, but to him, she may as well have been cut from the same fabric of this place.  She possessed a beauty both rare and indescribable, but it was more than her eyes or her skin or the mere sum of her parts.  All at once, she was childlike, wide-eyed and wondrous, while possessed of an old soul, capable of an understanding that far outweighed her years.  It gave her a certain radiance, but it was subtle and guarded against all but him.  He was perpetually mystified by her desire to give of that part of herself to him.  It was a distinction he knew he didn’t deserve, but that in his marrow he craved.

 

From somewhere behind, she heard Solas's voice, "Does it please you?"  It was only as she turned to him that she realized she'd taken several steps away, so lost in her wonder that she hadn't noticed.  Fingertips brushed dazedly across her lips as her eyes strayed.  She managed to breathe, "How could it not?"  He couldn’t hide the pride he took in her acknowledgement, and a rare smile spread fully on his lips.  Graceful strides brought him to stand before her, and he found his attention drawn to a loose spiral of hair as it caressed the high curve of her cheek.  He traced the niveous line with a fingertip, then grazed the slope of her jaw.  “I don’t understand,” she confessed with a glance, green eyes sparked with tiny motes of reflected light.  “The gown, this place.  What is the occasion?”   _ She is so achingly lovely _ , he thought. “Do I need an occasion?” he asked.  She quickly countered with, “Of course not, but-,” and before she could speak further, he silenced her by lowering his lips to hers.  

 

When they parted, he saw the question still in her eyes, and the freckles on Solas’s cheeks darkened with the flush that suffused his cheeks as he spoke.  “You are the occasion.  I-,” he paused to take a breath, drawing her into his arms, thumbs barely brushing skin at the small of her back.  “I do not know how to tell you what you are to me,” he admitted, absently stroking her back with his thumbs as he averted his gaze.  Typically, he wasn’t one to struggle with words, but any of adequate measure eluded him.  Every breath drew her deeper into himself, and the paradox that she was settled at the center of his chest -- heavy and consuming, while effecting an impossible unburdening in his heart.  She had laid bare the pieces of his fractured self and breathed new life into them.  She really  _ had _ changed everything.  

 

He cleared his throat quietly, and when he looked up, he gestured with his eyes at their surroundings.   “The Veil is thin here.  Do you feel it?  It is like a hum on your skin,” he said, pausing to trail a fingertip down her arm.  “Or shiver without the cold.”  Her eyes followed his, and his touch summoned goosebumps on her skin.  “I feel it.  But, this isn't the Fade,” she stated, though it came out more as a question.  “You are correct.  It is not the Fade.  It is a convergence of sorts.  It is a real place, branded with memories that linger yet in the waking world like ghosts.  And beneath, the Veil whispers, echoes that are as real as you or I.”  With those words, he met her gaze again and found her watching him.   “Where is this, then?  I don't recognize it.”  The upward cant of his lips was subtle:  less than a smile, not quite a frown, though it was haunted by both fondness and sorrow.  “This is as close to Arlathan as I am able to bring you,” he replied finally, and he finished by saying, “I stumbled upon this place while studying the cube.”  

 

As it had since they arrived, the music in the background carried on, spectral notes of a forgotten song.  “I am still uncertain of its exact nature.  But, it is singular in its existence.  I am sure of that, and...I wanted to share it with you,” he said, the progression of his words drawing off into a hesitant silence.  His heart was a steady, though pounding thud in his chest, and in spite of himself, he felt the warm flush on his cheeks creep higher to his ears.  His eyes cast aside as he sought further words to explain the importance of having her at his side, especially in this place, but he found only inward frustration at his inability to articulate what he wanted to convey.  He’d spent so long disentangling himself from his desire for companionship, for touch, for love, and it had taken her so little time to bind him up again, revealing or perhaps reminding him that these were things he needed.  It was like rediscovering a language in which he’d once been fluent, but had grown neglectful of practicing.  He knew the sounds of the words, how to read them, and yet they languished on his tongue when he attempted speech.  

 

His forehead creased, and his brow drew low when he felt her fingers on his jaw.  He caught her eyes, and her expression caused a lump to form in his throat.  There was nothing there but tenderness, adoration, and perhaps even love; he didn’t deserve any of those things.  “I know what this place must mean to you.  And bringing me here, you’ve shown me something whose equal I am unlikely to see again,” she said, her breath soft on his throat as she set her mouth just beneath his ear.  “Thank you, Solas,” was her final whisper as her hand traveled to settle at the center of his chest.  Sensation webbed out from her touch, tingling through his limbs and across his scalp, and the faintest of tremors rolled through his body.  When she drew back, he cupped her face between his palms, long fingers bushing the outer slope of her ears as he pulled her in to taste her lips.

 

It wasn’t that they had never kissed.  Their first had been unexpected, and his reaction had been instinctual and impulsive.  On her balcony, he’d still been struggling to come to terms with his feelings for her and his ensuing guilt.  The times in between had been fleeting and impromptu.  But here, it was different.  With every breath, she had enticed him from his self-imposed seclusion, given him a taste of freedom he’d denied himself for so long.  She did it so subtly that by the time he’d realized, it was far too late to stop the momentum.  No, this kiss felt like the first time should have.  Not rushed, but slow.  The press of lips, soft and yielding.  The first tantalizing tastes of each other begged for more even as his tongue sought entrance and was welcomed fully.  A back and forth, a longing that grew into a hunger that found his fingers craving skin and her face tilting up to his so she could drink more deeply of him.  He felt weightless and dizzy, and she clung to him as if he were her step on solid ground.  She gave over to him the softest murmur of a sound, and he devoured it.  It slid like silk into his stomach and unfurled a warmth that inched lower even as it lent its touch to his cheeks and the tips of his ears.  Reluctantly, he began to pull away, though his commitment faltered for a moment in which he returned to kiss the corners of her mouth.  Their quickened breaths mingled as his forehead lowered to hers, and neither spoke for long moments.  It was Solas who broke the silence.  “Dance with me, ma lath” was his invitation, and she was powerless to refuse.  

 

* * *

The empty wine bottle on the table sat between two half-full chalices, and the silver bowl nearby was now the depository of leafy green tops that had once been attached to strawberries.  Solas lay, back propped on the arm of the chaise, with his jacket gone, his head lolled to one side, and an easy smile on his lips.  Niyera rested between his legs, one of which draped off the edge, and reclined her side against his body.  “This is the last one,” she quipped, holding the plump strawberry by its leafy top.  He murmured an acknowledgement, and one corner of his mouth drew higher when she offered it out to him.  He craned his neck forward to bite the berry, but his teeth clicked on empty air as she snatched it out of reach and popped it into her mouth.  Her laugh was light and airy against his feigned shock and hurt at being denied.  Catching her chin between his thumb and index finger, he bent his features into an exaggerated scowl.  “Thief,” he muttered as he drew her closer, lifting her face in order to catch her lips with his.  What began as teasing quickly deepened, and he devoured the taste of her, honeyed and mingled with the crimson fruit.  

 

When he pulled back, Solas murmured against her lips, “So sweet.”  The blush of the kiss painted her wine-flushed cheeks a tad darker as she let her hand wander over his chest.  “It’s just the strawberry,” she said in a hush, and the words were met with a subtle shake of his head.  “No,” he began, the mirth evaporating from his tone to be replaced with something like reverence, “It is you.”  Fingers ghosted over her cheek as he reached to the crown of her head and gently tugged the pick from her hair to lay it aside.  From beneath, he threaded his hands into her hair at the nape, and the pile of neatly twisted white locks fell past his hands to brush against his forearms.  Her lids fell half-shut as he combed through her hair to settle it about her face, fingers left tangled as he tilted her face down and leaned in to claim her mouth again in a kiss.  

 

In the same way that waves push and pull at the shore, the press of their lips was a back and forth that deepened with every breath they shared.  A soft hum of pleasure was given from one to the other, though she couldn’t be sure if it was her own or his.  She was too lost in the sensation of his palm coasting upward across her ribs to settle a thumb against the curve of her breast.  A flare of heat tumbled over in her chest to flood her belly, and she nipped at his lower lip as her body stirred against his hand.  A rumble originating deep in his throat heralded his rise, and his movement urged her onto her knees, leant back on her heels.  Without breaking the kiss, he scooted closer, twining an arm around her waist to dip fingers beneath the silk of her gown to perch on the bare skin of her hip.

 

The remaining hand in her hair slipped away, tracing the slope of her ear to her jawline before brushing the underside of her chin.  When his hand fell between them, the silk was a satiny slip on bare skin when Solas palmed her breast beneath, thumb teasing its stiff peak.  The taste of his moan surprised her and also made her keenly aware of the warmth that had begun to pool between her legs.  She voiced a weak protest against his lips, the silk beneath his touch creating a maddeningly sweet friction.  When he failed to relinquish his hold, she planted her palms against his chest and pushed away, breaking the kiss.  She found Solas’s eyes unfocused, hazed with arousal and confusion, and his lips pinked and parted for his quickened breaths.  He swallowed, hard, and his eyes flared a fraction wider as he suddenly snatched back his hand.  His eyes betrayed a hint of surprise, perhaps at himself, as he lowered his eyes from hers in something that resembled shame.  

 

“Ir abelas, vhenan,” he said, his breath tripping his words as he stretched out his long legs to either side of her knees.  “I...lost myself for a moment.  Forgive me,” he said quietly as he scrubbed his knuckles against his jaw and pushed his eyes up to hers for his final words.  However, gazing at her, he realized he'd mistaken her withdrawal. Her hands were beneath her hair, and the silk of her gown caught on the peaks of her breasts with every movement that tugged it.  Unconsciously, the tip of his tongue wetted his lower lip, and the grey-blue of his eyes darkened to something like steel as he sat transfixed.   When the silver satin collar sheathing her throat relinquished its hold, she let it slip from her fingers, and the unsupported weight brought the fabric down in a whisper of silk on skin. 

 

The sound Solas made wasn’t quite a gasp or a sigh, and his eyes were slower than he would have liked to meet hers.  Almost without thought, his arm about her waist drew her closer, and he lifted a hand as if to touch her.  There was a hesitation, like a penitent at prayer compelled to reach toward the object of his reverence, but stopping short as if unworthy.  The question in his eyes was met with nothing but invitation in hers.  It was then that his gaze finally abandoned hers to fall lower, and with a feather-light touch, his fingers drew down the column of her neck.  A shiver passed through her body and into his, causing him to reflexively tighten his hold on her waist.  The outline of her collarbone was traced, lines drawn on her chest, before he brushed his fingers, as gentle as a sigh, beneath the curve of her breast.  The muffled sound she made called his eyes upward, and he found her with her eyes closed.  He couldn’t help but watch her face as he stroked the bud with the pad of his thumb, secretly delighting in the way the corners of her mouth tightened with effort not to give voice to her pleasure.

 

Emboldened by her reaction, he gently took the mound in hand as his head dropped, and he brushed the tip of his nose along the valley between the pale sisters.  He breathed her in, the sweet blackberry-sage of her soap filling his lungs, and his sigh against her skin was followed by the press of his lips.  His tongue flicked out from between, the tip catching the rosy bud, and her short gasp was accompanied by the weight of her hand on his shoulder.  He needed no further provocation, and nuzzled into the softness of her skin before taking the nipple in his lips.  Palming one breast, he suckled at the other, lips encompassing the peak as he rolled the nub with his tongue.  The moan that left her did so with a shudder he felt in her grip on his shoulder, a tremor that shot straight through him to the ache trapped beneath his leggings.  

 

It had been so long, too long, and his resolve was so much dust that slipped away between her delicate fingers.  --  A gravelly moan echoed in his chest, and his hands fell away to her waist as he coaxed her to sit up from her heels.  She rose over him, and his face tilted upward, eyes locked on hers as he savored the taste of her skin.  When the cradle of her hand smoothed across the back of his head, he begrudgingly departed from her breast with a final flick of his tongue.  Her hands were hungry pilgrims that eased over his shoulders as she sat back, traveling the length of his broad chest and lower to grip the hem of his shirt.  When she tugged it up, he dutifully held his arms overhead for her to pull it free.  The rise and fall of her chest stuttered when she flattened her hands on his chest and with gentle pressure, pushed him onto his back.   

 

There was no resistance, and he was all too happy to lay at her mercy.  One thing he could not help, however, were his hands when he found them full with her breasts, massaging as her fingers drew against her thighs.  In increments, she gathered the fabric of her skirts until it sat about her hips, and leaning into the support of his hands, she abandoned her place between his legs to straddle his thighs.  The ministrations of his hands faltered, and he took a shuddering breath as her warmth settled against him.  There was certainly a part of him that acknowledged that this was unwise -- the closeness, her touch, the love he could not help but bear for her.  It was the same part that whispered to him of how little he deserved this affection, this attention, this pleasure.  But at the same time, it was the look in her eyes as she bent toward him, the gaze that lingered longer than it needed to and held him with such tenderness, that made it impossible for him to regret or feel shame in any of it.

 

He allowed her to push his arms back over his head, and they rested against the velvet cushions as her touch explored the length of his torso.  When her hands at last settled at his waist, the brush of her lips to his stomach was soon to follow.  A dearth of touch had left his flesh too sensitive, and her simple kiss made him flinch and suck in his gut.  He sensed the weight of her gaze and could hear the concern in her voice when she asked, “Solas?  Is this alright?”  His light chuckle was marked with more than a little mirth, a hint of surprise, and just a touch of sadness.  “Yes, vhenan, very.  It has just...been a long time since anyone has-,” and he let his words trail off as he turned his eyes down the length of his body to her.  She was still poised with hesitation, but when he uttered a soft, “Please,” she nodded only once before trailing the tip of her nose across his skin.  The kisses that followed drew from him several more full-body tremors, and he clasped one wrist in an effort to restrain himself.  But, his eyes never strayed from her as she crawled up his body, her hands and lips and tongue igniting sparks beneath his skin with every touch.

 

By the time she was nuzzling into the hollow of his throat, he was near delirious with the effort of his restraint combined with the burn of desire that clenched deep in his body.  His hands were tightly flexing fists above his head, and he was all but squirming into the cushions of the chaise to keep himself from bucking into her to chase his need for friction.  The scrape of her teeth on the side of his neck all but completely had him undone, but when she laved her tongue across the assailed skin in conjunction with a roll of her hips against him, he was finished.  His hands drew down on her waist, sliding to the small of her back to work at the line of hook closures hidden in the folds of her gown.  

 

He wasn’t sure if it was the smallness of the clasps, the largeness of his fingers in comparison, or the maddening sensation of her tongue on the slope of his ear, but he couldn’t imagine anything more difficult to master at this very moment.   _ Orleasians and their damned overly complicated tailoring _ , he swore internally.  It was her laugh, the warmth of her breath in his ear that told him he’d actually given voice to those words.  The rush of heat that skittered up his neck to his cheeks surprised him; he hadn’t thought it would be possible to be any warmer at this moment, but evidently, he had been mistaken.  His triumph was announced by a grumble behind his closed lips as he released the last clasp, but the kiss she deposited on his lips when she leaned back more than served to loosen them.  

 

His heartbeat had found its way into his throat as his hands sank across her hips, fabric gathering at his wrists, and she deftly maneuvered her way out of the gown.  On her knees above him, he took a moment to drink in the sight of her.  The apples of her cheeks were pinked with blush, the tips of the ears that peeked from her tousled hair, down her neck to the rise of her full breasts.  He splayed a hand across her stomach and drew lower until his thumb had parted her folds to find the tight bundle of nerves tucked between.  Her soft gasp accompanied the tremble that passed through her legs, and his free hand grasped her hip to steady her.  She was so wet and swollen, and he could feel the warmth of her through his leggings.  It tugged a groan from his lips as he tightened his grip on her hip, his thumb still tracing circuits over the bud of her heat.  

 

Her hands became frantic on the laces of his leggings, and when she drew down his legs to tug at the hips, he lifted away from the cushions to let her strip them away.  A knot of tension he hadn’t realized was between his shoulders untangled when his length was freed, and unthinking, he reached to palm himself for a firm tug.  The moan the touch elicited changed in pitch when her tongue drew along the underside; his hand was shooed away to allow her lips to slide over the head before she sank on him to the back of her throat.  His eyelids fluttered, briefly showing only the whites of his eyes as he struggled to regain some semblance of focus.  This was achieved when he found himself unseated from her mouth and instead felt the pressure of her knees against his hips.  

 

Perched above him, she sought his gaze, beckoning his attention with light scrape of her nails on his stomach.  His response was immediate, and their eyes fixed, grey-blue on green, as his hands grazed her ribs.  The quick rise and fall of his chest was mirrored by her own, and her fingers were the slightest bit cool when she took him in hand to position him against her opening.  That sensation lasted only a fraction of a second, however, as she lowered herself onto him.  A tremblor born at his core shook through his body, and their shared moan was all he could hear above the rush of blood in his ears.  Inch by inch, each roll of her hips seated him more fully inside until he was sheathed to the hilt in her warmth.  Neither of them moved for what seemed like a lifetime, enjoying the simple sensations of filling and being filled.  But when her hand rooted on his torso and his hands to her hips, she rocked into him, and he rose to meet her. 

 

Behind his eyes, he could see the shiver that ran the length of his spine.  It danced like golden sparks and made his skin vibrate as he fought against his body’s instinct to sate itself with abandon.  But, he followed her lead, and the rhythm they established was a smooth glide, a seamless undulation of one body into another.  It summoned breaths heavy with pleasured sounds, hands that roamed and gripped and caressed and clenched.  Her head had fallen back, and he was riveted by the way her rise and fall caused her hair to sway and her breasts to bounce.  At some point her hands had fallen to clasp his wrists as his hands rode on her hips, fingers pressed in and hard.  From low in her belly, a coiled heat began to creep upon her, and with a tug on his wrists, she stammered out a breathy, “No...slow-slower.  Not yet.”  He wasn’t sure she understood exactly what it was she was asking.  He groaned, a mixture of pleasure and pain she could feel in the stuttering of his hips as he slowed, not quite able to stop, but calmed to a shallow grind as she fought against her climax.

 

She wasn’t ready for it to end, and she bore into him with her weight and folded herself against his body.  Her hands captured his face, and when their lips met, her kiss was fervent, a scorching press and parting of lips, tongues that delved and departed from a flame that threatened to consume him.  Her legs trembled around him, and he felt the growl like a distant peal of thunder grow in his chest before it spilled from his mouth into hers.  An arm around her waist and a hand clasped to the back of her neck gave him the leverage to upset her balance and an imperious roll of their bodies set him atop her without ever unseating himself.  A gasp tinged with surprise had barely died on her lips before she found herself beneath in him, his hips pivoting to thrust into her.  Her breath hitched as he tugged one of her knees up against his side, holding it bent as he fell deeper inside her.  

 

Her body instinctively arched against him, and the moan that tore from her was deep and achingly sweet.  When her arms coiled around his neck, his face fell, lips sucking at her pulse as he bore into her, again and again with a building pace.  Each breath was a pant, and her fingers dug into his shoulders, leaving reddened half-moons on his skin that pulled a hiss from between his teeth.  The barely-contained clench coiled low in her belly only moments earlier was now a tension that had pulled her entire body as taut as a bow string.  There was no longer any restraint in her voice, and the movements of her hips against him became erratic as he felt the tightening of her muscles on his length.  With his sweat-damp brow buried against her shoulder, she cried out as her climax consumed her, the intensity of it lifting her body into his. 

 

It took everything he had not to follow her over the precipice.  He could no longer distinguish his voice from hers as he continued to move within her, and his exertions forced him to release her leg.  An arm crept beneath her to grip at her shoulder as he supported his weight on the other elbow, and a desperate whisper in his ear roused him from the depth of his focus.  “Look at me.  Solas, look at me,” she begged, and he drew back just enough to meet her eyes.  Strands of hair clung to her damp skin, her lips hugged every sound that left them and hung in a silent 'o' in the times between.  Just looking at her, the expression in her eyes, was enough to override his effort and force a tightness to grip him.  

 

His complete undoing came when she folded her legs around him and hooked her ankles to pull herself into each of his thrusts.  If her thumbs hadn’t been beneath his jaws as her hands firmly held his face, he’d have buried his mouth in her shoulder to muffle his shout.  But, as it was, he was locked within her gaze and she in his, and there was no hiding the sound or the gasps that followed as his peak gripped him.  Every muscle in his body trembled as he spilled inside her, seed buried deep with each pump of his hips.  Helpless to the sensation, he thrust several more times after there was nothing left to spend before he all but collapsed atop her.  Without withdrawing, he shifted as little as possible just to keep from crushing her, and wound an arm over her as he rested his cheek against her chest.  Her arms were still around him, her ankles were unhooked, but her legs were still loose about his hips, and she moved to cradle the back of his head in her hand.  He was still trembling when she asked if he was well, and he could only chuckle and assure her that, without question, he was as well as he’d been in ages.


End file.
